


When the Student is ready...

by Oliver99



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: Amputation, Badass Jack Spicer, Hurt Jack Spicer, Insanity, Other, Smart Jack Spicer, True Villain Jack Spicer, Villains, loss of limb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28628676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver99/pseuds/Oliver99
Summary: Sometimes, Jack missed the way the showdowns used to be when they began the entire thing. When he was just 16, and the monks were a bunch of kids. Back when Wuya had no body, before Chase and Hannibal joined them and the entire thing became less of a kids’ game and more of a life-threatening battle for the world.ORWhere Jack Spicer, through great pain, loss, and determination, became a True Villain and one of the greatest masterminds of his time.
Relationships: Everyone & Jack Spicer
Comments: 20
Kudos: 69





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> I really hate how unexplored Jack's potential as a villain is in the series, so I made it my mission to fix this mistake. Plus we really have to revive this fandom a bit!
> 
> The POV will be alternating between people and points in time. 
> 
> Please note that this work will have some triggering topics like amputation and dealing with the loss of limb, mental deterioration, death, and various others. If you can be triggered, don't read.

1\. 

Sometimes, Jack missed the way the showdowns used to be when they began the entire thing. When he was just 16, and the monks were a bunch of kids. Back when  Wuya had no body, before Chase and Hannibal joined them and the entire thing became less of a kids’ game and more of a life-threatening battle for the world. 

As time progressed, more and more dangerous, often ancient forces joined the fight between Xiaolin and Haylin. The monks were mastering more and more advanced techniques. Everything was changing, moving on from the earlier days. 

Everything, except for Jack. He knew he wasn’t changing, wasn’t improving – the others didn’t forget to remind him of it every time they faced each other. When they began, he was still a threat. Now, he was _nothing_. No technology, no robot he built could possibly last half a minute against his opponents. He wasn’t a fighter. He _WAS_ a genius – but his lack of focus, and the fact he was desperate, always rushing everything, made him look like a _fool_. 

Jack was nothing, and therefore he became a laughing stock of both sides. Sometimes a  pennyboy for the stronger Haylin, but never for long. In his search for a chance, he never stayed on one person’s side for long, jumping at every opportunity he saw, so nobody trusted him enough to consider a partnership.

Sometimes, Jack missed how things used to be. Back when people like  Tubbimura , Ashley, or Le Mime wanted to team up with him for mutual profit. Especially the first two – back when the non-magical Haylin would stick together. After just a few short years, even they didn’t want to work with him. Not even on a temporary basis – he wasn’t important enough for them to consider at all. 

Even  PandaBubba , a businessman through and through, didn’t take him seriously. Nothing could change that – not his family name, not his money, not the immense business influence of his father or the social one of his  mother . He wasn’t a promising enough  investment . 

Sometimes, Jack missed the way the showdowns used to be when they had just begun. When the biggest injury he could possibly expect was a bruise; a blackeye; a few meager scrapes. He missed it with every painful cut and lost fingernail. With every concussion; burn; every dislocated joint. With every cracked rib; broken finger; internal bleeding.

Jack missed it more and more often. 

Nevertheless, he’d still show up. Whenever he could make it there in time, he’d participate, he’d try to win, to prove to them he wasn’t a failure. _To prove_ _it to himself._

He didn’t know at what point it became everybody’s favorite form of entertainment to torment him during the showdown. He didn’t know when it became customary for them to torment him _after_ someone had won. The winners, to celebrate their victory. The losers, to lessen the bitterness of their own failure. 

He was still trying, jumping more and more chaotically from one person to the other, seeking anybody’s approval. Wanting for someone to just give him a _chance_. One minute he wanted to be Chase’s apprentice, then to overthrow him. He would partner up with Hannibal, then plot against him, imagine standing side by side with the Bean’s greatest enemy. He’d team up with  Wuya against the other two immortals, then burn with hate for her schemes and plots, one that tasted like toxic waste in the back of his throat. 

He was growing more and more  desperate . More and more careless. 

Maybe that was why he ended up like this. Maybe it actually was his own fault from the start – maybe he should have quit when he still had the chance... the mental capacity to make that call. 

It wasn’t a showdown any more violent than others – by that point, they were all the same. They were facing one another on a dry and rocky Texas desert – Clay was having the time of his life, it seemed. 

For once he managed to arrive quickly enough to join the fight between the blond monk, Chase, and Hannibal, the two latter having more of a one-on-one duel on the same occasion. 

It was just like that showdown that supposedly took place during the Haylin Eclipse – the one he didn’t remember, only heard of. The one the Haylin thought he’d won when in reality, it was an unspoken secret between him and the monks – the _victory_ that tasted more acid than any of his losses. 

Here, he didn’t have the advantage of a Wu that could distract any of his opponents from his own shenanigans. He only had the Wings of  Tinabi – useless for an owner of a Helibot. 

They kicked him around, used him to throw at their own rivals, like an object. Like a rock on the side of the road. 

The monks have lost, the third time in a row, just in that month. It must have left an ugly taste in their mouths, just like the one Jack was tasting, trying desperately to get back up from where he was lying in a heap, covered in dust. Or maybe the taste was really there? Was it bile or blood? He couldn’t tell. His chest was very tight. Was it a panic attack, or were his ribs broken again? He couldn’t tell. Maybe it was just the concussion, like two weeks ago. 

He couldn’t tell. 

They decided to fix their low team morale by beating Jack up. 

They landed in a heap – he wasn’t sure who was doing what. The world was spinning. He knew he was making noises – he always was. They were laughing at his _“girlish shrieks”._

Someone kicked him in the chest so hard he flew up – he felt his cracked ribs _give_ , and _break_. He couldn’t make a sound anymore – breathing was too hard. Too _painful_. 

The kick sent him in Chase’s direction. The warlord kicked him even harder to make him fly another way. Like a ball being kicked back. 

Jack knew he landed on a wall of one of those high stone... _things_. He couldn’t remember the word. He knew it was his left side that was met with the uneven, _dangerous_ red stone – he felt it. He felt his leg _break_. 

He knew he hit the stone at a significant height – he knew because he fell down towards the ground. He tried to land in a way that wouldn’t send him to a hospital. 

He landed on his broken leg. He felt something _shift_ and _snap further_. Then the pain. It felt _wet_... He wanted to cry out, but there wasn’t enough air in his lungs. He laid there, his eyes tearing up, from the pain, humiliation, or desert dust – he couldn’t tell. 

They left him alone after that. He thought he heard laughter... or did he imagine it? Was that just the ringing in his ears? He couldn’t tell. 

He was tired. Very, very tired. 

Sometimes, Jack missed the way the showdowns used to be, back when he had first joined the fight. Back when he was just a 16-year-old rich brat, dreaming of world domination and recognition. 

If only things had stayed the way they were back then... Jack wouldn’t have been in this situation. 

Maybe if he could start again, with all the knowledge that the pained and broken 19-year-old Jack possessed, he would have done things differently. 

_Or maybe he wouldn’t have joined in the first place..._

He couldn’t tell. 

2\. 

When Jack Spicer didn’t show up for the next three showdowns, nobody noticed. He didn’t always make it there in time – the fool was getting slower and slower every time, often preferring to rob them after the fact, and even  then, he barely ever succeeded. 

After two months and five showdowns had passed, Omi began to wonder. He was alone in that. 

After three months and eight showdowns, others began to wonder as well, not just the other dragons, but the Heylin as well. _Well..._

Wuya was curious. Chase was convinced he had finally decided to quit and didn’t bother to think about it anymore. Hannibal barely noticed at all. And nobody cared what others thought. 

After four months and fifteen showdowns, a  Jackbot flew into the center of the fight they had just concluded, and for a moment, everybody thought Jack has returned, late as he often was. 

It was alone though. 

It dropped unceremoniously a small sack of Shen Gong Wu – the last few that Jack had left. Then it hovered for a second and spoke. 

It was a relatively short message for what it conveyed.

_“Master Jack does not want anything to do with the conflict anymore. Here are all the Shen Gong Wu he had left. He wishes to tell you to do with them whatever you see fit. He also wishes to tell you to never make any form of contact with him again. He wants things to be as if he had never met any of you.”_

Then the robot was gone, living mixed reactions. 

Omi was shocked and very sad. He had hoped to turn Jack Spicer towards the side of _good_ , but he supposed the fact that he _renounced evil_ must have been enough for him. It wasn’t a complete victory, but it wasn’t a loss either. 

Raimundo and Kimiko were both skeptical and wanted to break into Jack’s hideout, only allowing themselves to be _persuaded_ later, by Master Fung, with a vast vary of consequences for insubordination having been listed on that occasion. 

Clay understood, and honestly, he was glad it was _finally_ over. 

From the Heylin side, the reactions were very mild. Neither Chase nor Hannibal gave it much thought – they had a confirmation of their suspicions, nothing more. They lost less than a pawn in the grand scheme of things. 

Wuya had the most mixed reaction. The boy was HER pawn after all. But in the end, the sack of Shen Gong Wu and the following fight took up most of her attention. She didn’t care for Jack anyway. 

The younger Heylin heard the news quickly. Some actually tried to contact Jack – mostly with the intent to mock him, just a bit. Some out of curiosity. 

They were  unsuccessful . 

The world moved on. 

3.

Most of the outside world didn’t know much about Jack Spicer. 

He existed. He was the only child of the wealthy American businessman Lucas Spicer and a Chinese philanthropist/socialite/style icon Jiao Spicer, nee Chiu. 

He showed up to a few places, had a few articles about him as a child. 

He was a _genius_ – he finished college in _four_ different disciplines: engineering, robotics, informatics, and business, before he turned fifteen. 

He was never interested in his family legacy and vanished from the social circles shortly after receiving his masters. 

That was all. 

They didn’t know what kind of shady business he used to dip his fingers in, all the way up to his elbows.

And they most certainly didn’t know about his _current condition._

Jack was sure. 

Nobody ever talked about him. The doctors at the hospital where he has been treated were both paid _and_ threatened well enough to keep quiet. 

He never left the house. Not once. 

Not since he was allowed to go back, two months after that _dreadful day._

So, he hasn’t left the house in _eight months._

He didn’t see the point. 

His parents used to be around at first. 

His mother hovered. She cried for the first week. Then she tried to be _supportive_. Jack didn’t want to be _supported_ , to be told everything would be fine in the end, that _this wasn’t the end of the world_ because it bloody _was_ and he was tired of people trying to make him believe otherwise. 

His father didn’t hover. At first, he was full of sorrow. Unusually _tactful_ , for him. Then he was trying to make Jack move on, take an interest in the family business, or to make use of his degrees and status. 

Jack wasn’t interested in _moving on._

His father reacted with anger, saying he brought this upon himself and that he shouldn’t have ventured into any type of crazy business in the first place, but _kept both feet on the ground._

He _actually_ used that expression. 

Which ended up sending Jack into a frenzy. Literally. 

He has never screamed at his parents in his life, not until that day. On that day, he has shouted, thrown a tantrum, and made sure the rift between him and his father was never to be mended. 

His mother cried for days after that fight, before throwing herself back into the comforting arms of her social life. 

His father went back to business. Jack didn’t care what he thought. Thought, not felt. The man was a rock – stoic. Solid. Unmoving. Unfeeling. Cold. 

And a _complete and utter bastard._

_A worthless, thoughtless, piece of shit bastard_ that Jack hoped would _rot in hell_ for eternity. 

_Keep both feet on the ground._

After the anger was gone, Jack found himself crying. And laughing. 

_Keep both feet on the ground._

_Keep both feet..._

_Both feet..._

He reached down to the sides. He gripped the  handrim with shaky fingers and pulled, moving the wheelchair away from the table so that he could look down. 

His eyes focused, as always, on his right leg. Nothing unusual there. Just a pale, bony leg that could use some sun. And maybe a waxing.

Then they moved to the left. To the empty space that became of what used to be the middle of his thigh. 

He closed his eyes and  laughed bitterly, tears falling. 

Maybe he should have kept _both feet on the ground._

_While he still had them._


	2. Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moments of the present and the past shocks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually enjoyed this way of writing, so I'll probably keep it up. Please note that the individual particles of the chapters will not be chronological - it's on purpose so that we can see both the present and the past, and dose the information as needed.

  1. 


In retrospection, Omi would like to think he’s foreseen the consequences of their mission to hunt down the Shen Gong Wu. He’d like to think himself wise enough to understand in advance that to do good, sometimes they had to make a hard choice and do something bad.

Like right now. 

Because in any other situation, Omi would follow the laws of whatever land they were in, to the best of his abilities. He was a Xiaolin monk, and it was expected of him to embody the good he  defended . 

But sometimes Shen Gong Wu were found in strange places, by unsuspecting people. Sometimes they were mistaken for simple historical artifacts and taken back home. And sometimes, that required them to do something questionable. 

_ Like on that specific occasion, _ he thought as Dojo circled the company’s building. He didn’t know what they were making. Kimiko tried to explain it to him to the best of her abilities, but even at 19 years old he sometimes had trouble understanding the world away from the temple. 

And it wasn’t like her information was that great either! The further into the future their battle against the dark forces progressed, the more training they needed, and the less time they had for simple pleasures. She has fallen somewhat behind on tracking the tech, and news of the world in general. 

It wasn’t important anyway. What was, was that it was a very big company that made important computer...  _ things _ , and that their building was guarded at night and not available during the day.  _ And that they had a Shen Gong Wu inside.  _

So, yes. They had to enter it in secrecy and take the Wu. Omi understood that – it was dangerous in civilian hands, and the forces of evil didn’t have their restraint and would come after it regardless. It was best for them to intervene and take it to the temple, where it would be safe and sounding.

That didn’t mean he had to  _ like  _ the fact he had to  _ snake in like a criminal _ ! The monk’s robes felt heavier on his skin whenever he had to act in such a shameful way for the sake of good. 

They had no time to lose though. They could all feel the strange sensation on their spines – a sign of dark forces approaching. It was strong. Whether it meant many opponents or fewer strong ones was of no consequence – they knew they needed to rush. 

They landed on the roof and Dojo immediately shrunk himself and coiled around Kimiko’s shoulders – he didn’t enjoy Beijing in late autumn. He was a dragon – during nights like these he much preferred to find the warmest place around and  _ stay there.  _

_ “ _ Ok guys, everybody remembers the plan?”

Raimundo spoke, leading them closer to the door and the  _ computer-lock _ beside it. 

“Kimiko, you try to disable the system. If you can do it, we go in, get the Wu, and get out. If you can’t we use the Serpent’s Tail.”

They nodded at each other and Kimiko knelt by the...  _ panel _ , yes... to open it, her thick, jet black hair almost merging with the darkness. 

Using the Shen Gong Wu had to be their plan B, and Omi wasn’t content with that. But he understood that Dojo would have trouble finding the new Wu while ghostly, so he begrudgingly agreed to follow the path that forced them to use the villainous tactic of sneaking in. 

His eyes moved to Kimiko and the be\ack of her head as she kept working on the strange device. 

She was only a year older than him, and, at 20 years old, she was a woman already, not the girl he had met once in the temple. 

She no longer wore strange hairstyles or two ponytails, instead choosing to wear a topknot held by a red ribbon and a pair of chopsticks. 

(Omi actually gave her a very pretty pair for her birthday a few months prior.)

She was a very beautiful woman. Frail and slender in built, but still a good fighter, and pale like white rice – Omi knew he hasn’t seen many girls up-close, but he was certain Kimiko must have been one of the prettiest. 

Suddenly, a frown tugged upon her perfectly maintained, black brow, and Omi was torn away from his thoughts. 

“Something’s wrong... I can see that it’s a very good system, it must be brand new, but... it looks inactive. Like someone disabled it before we even got here...”

That was very worrying. 

“ Katnape maybe?” - asked Omi, knowing the other woman liked breaking in and stealing things – this would have been her style. 

“Maybe...” Kimiko sounded skeptical. 

“Whoever they are, if there’s somebody else here, we  gotta hurry.” Commented Raimundo, effectively giving them a signal to move forward. 

The door did indeed open for them without any problem or alarm going off. 

The four of them moved quickly through the corridors, led by Dojo’s Wu  senses . 

They were, admittedly, not the best at the moment – due to the Shen Gong Wu he had a cold, and often mistook the shiver for an indication of the right direction, making them walk into a dead-end far more times than should be acceptable from an  _ ancient temple guardian _ in Omi’s personal opinion. 

Didn’t Dojo hear what Kimiko has said before?! There was somebody else already in the building, they needed to hurry and find the Shen Gong Wu first! 

_ Finally _ , they have arrived before a room on one of the top floors – the double doors were very massive and pretty – this must have been a very important room. 

They looked from one to the other, nodding in silent agreement. 

Raimundo, as a leader should, opened the door and entered first. 

They were in a very spacious office, decorated in dark shades of brown and gold – very rich, very Chinese. For a moment, Omi marveled at the tapestries, vases, the desk. 

But upon noticing two figures materializing in the center of the room, by the means of Heylin magic, he and the others readied themselves for a possible attack, taking  defensive stances. 

In less than a few seconds, Chase Young and  Wuya stood before them. Chase looked somewhat bored,  Wuya annoyed as usual. 

“Ugh, they’re already here?! See, I told you to hurry!” She nagged, turning her painted face towards the ancient warrior. 

“If you want to chase those ridiculous trinkets, you’re allowed to, but I shall finish my business regardless of whenever you need to pick it up.” He spoke in a stern voice, clearly annoyed she interrupted... whatever he must have been doing before. 

“Chase Young,  Wuya , you should not have come! The  Èr Sachet is ours!” Spoke Omi, hoping to discourage them from fighting. He knew it was futile, but still, he couldn’t help wanting for them to just turn away and walk aside. 

“Yours, you say? Interesting, I don’t see you have it, which means it belongs to whoever gets it first...” The Heylin  witch spoke, her tone traitorously alluring as always. 

So, they were here for a showdown. Well, Omi suspected as much – they haven’t given down so far. He widened his stance just a little, moving his center of gravity a little lower and preparing to strike. 

Wuya made a few small steps towards them, and they all got ready to face her and the sliver of Heylin magic she possessed. 

Before anything could happen, however, the doors behind them opened. They jumped and changed their position in a fraction of a second, everybody tensing at the arrival of a new party. 

With  Wuya and Chase on their left, the monks looked to their right to see two strangers. 

They looked very, very strange. 

Two men in dark suits, one of whom carried a metal suitcase, stood before them. But Omi couldn’t see their faces – they were both wearing very strange...  _ helmets _ . They had screens in the place where their eyes must have been underneath. The one with a suitcase had a black helmet, and on the screen was a moving blue word displayed, like a neon board of bill – SARCASM. Its glow made the helmet shine. 

The other man had a dark red helmet, and the words on his screen were red too – MEAN AND LOUD. 

The strangers entered the room fully and closed the door behind them. Then the red one, who was closer to them, spoke, his voice distorted and mechanical. 

“Don’t let us interrupt you – we'll get what we came for and we’re gone.” For a robotic voice, it sounded strangely humorous, sarcastic even, despite the other man wearing the word. 

But what he said was far more important. Were those two men the ones who disabled the system? Did they come for the Wu?!

Omi immediately turned defensive again.

“Masked strangers, if you came here for the  Èr Sachet, then...” He didn’t get to finish before the man in the black helmet interrupted him rudely with his own distorted voice.

“We didn’t come for the Shen Gong Wu.” 

That brought even more attention to them. These two knew about Shen Gong Wu? They knew one was hidden in that room? And yet... they came for something else?

“Who are you?” Asked Raimundo, not  letting his guard down. 

The strangers turned to one another, as if looking in each other’s eyes, then both nodded, ignoring them completely. 

The stranger with a suitcase moved to stand behind the desk. His hand, covered by a black glove, checked the wood beneath the top, then the sides of the space for legs, finding a button, Omi supposed, because he heard a click, and on a far wall a big crack opened and moved up, showing a very big screen. 

The stranger in the red helmet immediately moved to stand there. 

“Who are you?!” Raimundo asked again, this time accompanied by  Wuya , who sounded not as much weary as... curious? Even Chase, when Omi chanced a glance his way, looked interested now, watching silently. 

The strangers didn’t speak. The man in the red helmet pressed something beneath the screen and suddenly a...  _ keyboard _ , moved from the wall. And the screen came to live, demanding a password. 

The man’s fingers began to move at unimaginable speed, flying on the keys. The screen began to distort, flicker, parts of it showing many lines of vertical changing numbers or horizontal lines of letters and signs that didn’t make any words. 

Omi didn’t understand what was happening. Was the man trying to break the computer?

He understood soon enough by Kimiko’s loud gasp – this was the action she  referred to as hacking. There was no visible hack involved though... 

Omi once again did not have the time to contemplate the strangeness of the expression his friends have taught him – all of a sudden from the floor in the center of the room came a black pillar with a glass case on top of it, and inside was some strange device. 

As soon as it was out, the man with a suitcase moved to stand before it. He was doing something strange that Omi couldn’t see, moving his hands on the seams of the glass case. And after but a few seconds, it opened, and he took the strange device and closed it again, and it went below the floor level again, this time completely empty. 

The man opened the suitcase – it was filled with black foam – and put the device in a place specially made for it as if it belonged in the case. 

But Omi suddenly understood – they were stealing something! They were stealing a device from the man who owned this company!

“Hold on, stranger! We cannot let you two  steal ... whatever it is you’re stealing!” He exclaimed, disturbed by what he was  seeing . 

The other man, in red, snorted at him. 

“Oh, like you didn’t come here to steal this?” He spoke, pointing to their right. All the eyes followed his finger – indeed, to their right, not too far from the door, on a chest, laid the Shen Gong Wu they came to retrieve! 

Wuya looked from one side to the other, clearly thinking of a way to get there first.

His fellow monks got ready to race her for the Wu. 

Omi, however, turned red as a tomato. 

He was being called a  _ thief _ ...?!

“Well... it is not the same! We need to retrieve  this, it is an object of mystical powers that could harm somebody! We’re doing it for the sake of good! You are clearly stealing for the sake of evil!” He tried to defend himself, and the man in the red helmet  laughed at him. 

“Self- righteous , are we?”

They heard a case being closed, and the other man turned towards them. The two nodded again and moved towards the door.

“Were gone. Have your stupid showdown.” Spoke the man in the red helmet right before closing the door. 

As soon as it happened,  Wuya threw herself towards the Wu and they had to do the same to stop her. 

They had to let the strangers go; but nobody forgot about them for long. 

  1. _2 hours after the showdown_



Jack was feeling... surprisingly fine, actually. He sighed, not moving, not opening his eyes. He felt like he was floating. 

How long has it been since the last time he woke up without any pain? Too long... yes, far too long. 

It was wonderful. His brain felt like a sponge, but there were no thoughts in it. He was pleasantly empty, just floating in a strange, cloud-like plane of consciousness,  blissful . 

_ He’s not  _ _ gonna _ _ make it! _

It was so comfortable... so warm and cozy. He couldn’t feel his body at all. 

_ Doctor, his pulse is dropping!  _

Maybe he’d take another nap... yes, just a short one, before he’d have to start his day. That sounded nice... 

_ We’re losing him! He’s losing too much blood, the femoropopliteal artery has been torn too far! _

Yes, a nap was a nice idea. Just a bit... before he’d have to get up and face the day. 

_ We have no choice.  _

He was sure it would be  fine, his robots would wake him up if anything was to happen. 

_ We have to cut.  _

The nap... would be... a great... idea... 

  1. _78 hours after the showdown_



Everything felt extremely uncomfortable, bordering on painful. His nerves were... irritated? That was the best word he could conjure. He felt groggy, and confused, and nauseated. He felt like the world was undulating as if reality was a wave he’s been trapped under. 

It wasn’t right. 

The feeling was making him sick... 

Jack opened his eyes, hoping it would take  that wave away. 

The dull light attacked his eyes like a knife, making him squeeze them tight, worsening the headache and nausea. He felt  _ awful...  _

_ What in the name of all things evil had he been doing last night? _

For a moment he thought he might have gone to a party and just forgotten about the entire thing – it did happen once or twice before, he’s not  gonna lie about it. He  _ was  _ a rich kid. A  _ very rich _ one. Sometimes he went to questionable places, where he met questionable people. And once or twice there were questionable substances involved as well. 

But he never felt like  _ this  _ afterward... 

Mindful of the light he now knew was waiting for a chance to hurt him, Jack opened his eyes once again, looking around his room for some indication of  _ why the hell weren’t the blinds closed...  _

He wasn’t in his room. It was  _ a  _ room, yes, but not  _ his  _ room. This room was beige-white, clean, impersonal. Empty. It smelled strange, and the bed had weird railings... 

Hospital. Jack was in a  _ hospital.  _

This... hasn’t happened in a long, long time. 

Out of principle, Jack avoided hospitals like a plague. Not only because of general dislike or the  _ other people  _ aspect, but for several very important reasons. 

  * He was still a son of his parents and if anybody saw and recognized him, they might take an interest
  * A visit would show up in his records, where his parents could possibly see it (not that they’d care to look, but... better safe than sorry)
  * Most of his injuries were from showdowns and/or other shady stuff he participated in



So, quite obviously, Jack avoided hospital visits. 

He tended to his injuries on his own, and if they were more serious, he had a bot for that occasion. 

The last time he went to a hospital was when his ribs were broken – he could explain that with a fall and some very bad luck, and he couldn’t afford any risks of complications. 

So... what exactly happened to land him in such a situation?

He tried to remember something from... earlier, however long that must have been. Judging by the groggy feeling, he must have been sleeping for a while... 

He was working on a new bot. 

The Wu alarm went off. 

He flew to find it and ended up... where? It was hot and dry... 

_ Dry air, dusty ground, high, rocky pillars of stone, hard, very hard, DANGEROUS...  _

He gasped, and whatever was pressing on his brain was gone, leaving more clarity. 

Texas. He landed in Texas. 

Others... yes, the others were there too. Monks. Hannibal. Chase... 

_ Kicks and punches flying his way at great speed, too fast to register in time, too fast to dodge... hands gripping too tight, squeezing him, tossing his body aside...  _

Yes, there was a showdown, he grimaced. A... a bad one. As usual. 

_ Harsh landing. Pain. Head, ribs, nausea...  _

_ Another heap. More pain... Kicks and punches and throws and pain, so much pain...  _

They attacked him. 

_ Flying. Kick. Pillar. Pain, head, ribs, lungs burning, leg... broken bones, snapping, wet, hot pain... sticky sand...  _

And suddenly, suddenly it all came back to him. The  _ horrifying  _ pain in his leg. The broken bone must have moved when he landed on it with so much force... the bone shifted, maybe even broke the skin... 

Jack’s eyes flew to his lap. 

He froze. 

Something... no, something wasn’t right here. 

The image his brain was registering was... different, somehow. Something was wrong with it, but he couldn’t understand what. 

It was certainly different from how it usually looked, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Like a child playing the game of spotting the differences in two pictures, who knew it was different, but couldn’t register the one detail that made the picture feel  _ wrong.  _

His brain was moving at snail’s speed. 

His hands were shaking. 

He grasped the covers and mustered all his meager strength to yank it up and let it fall down from the bed. 

His brain just... broke. 

He was staring and shaking like a moron, his skin felt cold and he  _ couldn’t understand...  _

He felt like in that sort of nightmare where you can’t scream. 

The ones where you face the approaching threat and you know that one scream will save you. The ones where you open your mouth and nothing comes out but air. 

Where you try, time and time again, and you fail to do the one, simple thing that will save your life. 

He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a gasping, quiet, broken up sound. 

Barely even an “a”. 

He forced himself to take a breath, his world swimming, his head moving on its own accord in ways he couldn’t describe. 

He felt like he was falling into something very cold and thick, completely inescapable. 

He opened his mouth. 

“A... a-h... aa...”

The sound was audible, but he couldn’t register it over the ringing in his own ears. 

He couldn’t register anything. 

Jack  _ screamed.  _

His brain didn’t register the sound. It didn’t register the nurses running into his room, nor the cried-out, terrified eyes of his mother who followed them in, nor his father, with his face unusually gray. 

He didn’t register anything, beside one, simple fact. 

His left leg. 

_ WASN’T THERE.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't expect such a response! I know this fandom is a bit... dead, so I was very positively surprised! Thanks to everybody for comments and kudos alike, it really keeps me motivated to keep on adding new chapters!


	3. Shifting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A closer look into Jack's mind as he began to deteriorate, and a glimpse of Chase's current thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it me? Ignoring my responsibilities to indulge in writing angsty fanfiction? Adding the third chapter so fast? One day after the last? As a form of escapism and a great way to NOT write my thesis?
> 
> Why yes, it certainly looks like this. 
> 
> Sometimes life be like that.

  1. _2 months after the showdown_



They finally deemed him well enough to go back home. His... his... left leg has healed enough for them to stop fretting over the infection. His ribs, for once properly set, were fine, and the head trauma he suffered didn’t have any consequences other than a few scars hidden by his hair. 

Jack didn’t feel _well._ Not one bit. 

But he wanted to get out of the hospital. So he didn’t protest. 

Actually, he wasn’t protesting about anything they were doing. After that initial day, he barely ever spoke at all. 

He didn’t want to talk. He snapped a few times at the _nice_ nurse who was tending to him, and after less than a week, there was a new one. She didn’t talk. He was fine with it. 

He snapped at the doctors who tried to talk to him in debt about his condition, about his... leg, about his _prospects._

They were mostly consulting his parents. 

His mother tried to talk to him about the situation as well, but she, too, soon learned that it wasn’t the best choice. So instead, she was talking about trivial things, parties, gossip. He wasn’t listening. She was mostly talking at him anyway, like she always did. 

His father showed up maybe three or four times. They never had much of a relationship and it has always been either strict business talk or horrible awkwardness between them. 

The therapist at the hospital tried to get him involved. Get him to talk, acknowledge what happened so he could move on and whatnot. He was young – still eager to do his job, to _help someone,_ as if Jack was some sort of guinea pig he could train on. He was the hardest to discourage. 

Eventually, the guy just gave him some pills and assigned weekly sessions where Jack mostly stared at him until he left him alone. 

He didn’t bother to listen to any diagnosis, not from the doctors, not from the psychologist. 

He didn’t need to. 

He _knew_ what was wrong with him, anybody with one functional bran-cell could tell. 

_He lost his fuckin’ leg! What more did they want to add to sum it up?!_

That’s what this entire Xiaolin Shitshow brought him. Pain, humiliation, and _becoming a cripple._

He didn’t care what they had to say. 

He didn’t care when his father tried to talk to him about _possibilities_ and _perspectives_ and _his future._

There were no possibilities, no perspectives. He had no _future. That_ was it. The end of the line. 

_This_ was the punchline of the big joke that was his life. 

_2\. Present-day_

Chase Young has lived a long life. Unlike Wuya and Hannibal, he wasn’t locked up anywhere during the 1500 years that have passed from their days. No, far from it. He has traveled the world, fought countless warriors, some of whom were now under his command. 

He observed the world change, the political maps, and power dynamics shift. He has learned a lot and adapted to the way people, beliefs, and customs changed through different places and times, before making his home in the Land of Nowhere and building his citadel within a mountain on its border with the rest of the world. 

As one cannot possibly call themself a warlord without both an army and an inhabited territory, Chase obviously took care of his subjects, all of whom lived beyond the initial wastelands where only battles took place, where Chase compelled not only warriors, but creatures and the land itself to fight and hold off anybody who’d dare attack his land. 

As long as they remained loyal to him, however, Chase left the people of the Land of Nowhere a certain degree of liberty, which actually left him with a considerable amount of free time. 

Having banned Wuya from his war chamber and its general vicinity, he was able to conclude the meeting with the emissaries in peace. He has resolved several minor issues and slight territorial tensions – the Land united people of various origins and groups, who did not always get along perfectly. 

These were all minor issues though, dealt with rather quickly, and Chase counted the meeting as successful, if somewhat dull. 

For that reason, as well as the fact he had no specific plans for the rest of the day, he has decided to indulge Wuya’s request for hunting down another ridiculous toy left behind by Dashi. 

And for all things evil, was he _glad_ he made that choice. 

As a warlord, Chase was a specialist in recognizing several things. Threats. Potential allies. Potential pawns. People with exceptional gifts, who could end up playing a role in whatever era they were a part of. 

He usually paid little mind to thieves. They were, with very few exceptions, traitorous, had no honor, no morals, and little if any ambitions. 

However... 

It was a very rare occasion to encounter someone who, despite having the knowledge of Shen Gong Wu, shared his lack of interest in them. 

It was already uncommon to meet someone with the knowledge of the Xiaolin-Heylin conflict and showdowns, but to have two of them, working together, and uninterested in joining? That peaked Chase’s interest. 

He wasn’t ignorant to the setting either. As a warlord, he prided himself in being aware of his surroundings, and that included knowledge of the everchanging world in general, no matter how deeply rooted his appreciation for the traditional ways was. 

Therefore, he knew the company they broke into focused mainly on the development and production of computer systems for the military. 

_He might have neglected his duty of staying well informed –_ he thought, realizing he knew far too little about the two mysterious thieves. 

Because quite obviously, the configuration of the board their game took place on has changed somewhat while his attention was focused on other areas. 

He needed to divert his eyes from the supernatural part of the board and turn towards the shifting mortal world. 

In any game, be it chess, cards or go, one has the biggest chances of losing when one starts to focus too strongly on one area and neglects the broader approach, the bigger picture. That is when they come to miss opportunities and allow their enemies to approach unnoticed. 

The same rules applied to tactics in real life. 

As he entered his citadel, with Wuya (contently clutching the trinket to her chest) in tow, he made a decision. 

It was about time he refreshed some of his contacts with the mortal world’s villains and got more involved with current events. 

He needed a clear vision. 

_3\. 2,5 months after the showdown_

Jack hasn’t been to his workshop. His _basement_. 

He remembered his parents telling him they had the stairs modified for him if he wanted to _get back to his hobby._

They tried this in a desperate effort to get him to do _something._

_Anything._

Jack still hasn’t been there. 

He stayed on the first floor. Mostly in his own room. More specifically, mostly in his bed. 

There was not a single robot on the higher floors. It has always been his parents’ rule. 

Even that has changed now... 

_(“Jack, honey, you know, if you’d rather stay here... you can bring your things here if you’re more comfortable...” His mother tried in a disgustingly_ encouraging _voice, as they ate breakfast together. This almost never happened before..._

_Jack only shrugged and went back to poking his salmon and idly stirring the rice with his chopsticks. He didn’t have much of an_ _appetite_ _these days.)_

It’s been half a month since he came back from the hospital. Exactly fifteen days. 

Thirteen days since the argument with his father, when they spoke last. 

Five days since he last saw his mother, who seemed to have given up trying to make him _live_ for now, and went back to her busy life. 

Five days since he last showered. Five days since he last ate. Since he moved from the bed to any place other than the bathroom. 

The glass he had for tap water was becoming kinda gross... 

He didn’t see the point. 

For the first three days, he mostly slept. It was fine. It was a way to escape reality. 

Until the dreams came back. 

Whatever the shrink gave him must have lost its magic power, cause Jack once again, just like in the hospital, began to dream. 

He dreamt of Shen Gong Wu, and of many, many showdowns. The few he had won. The many he had lost. The ones from the beginning, when he could still stir up some trouble, when he was still a threat. The ones from the middle, when his importance was quickly decreasing, when he was no longer a player, only a pawn in the hands of more powerful forces. The ones from past months, when he was barely even that, when he became the laughing stock, the easy way for others to let go of their frustration. 

He dreamt of the jaws of the T-rex Chase threw him into. He dreams of Wuya and Hannibal manipulating him time and time again into doing their bidding for the promises he knew were empty. 

He dreamt of the monks, of the very brief time he spent at their temple when they used him for chores, of how they included him in their own plots, of the violence they dealt upon him to impress Dojo when they were trying to see who’d be the leader. Of how they treated him later, as time progressed. 

He dreamt of showdowns that never took place, imaginary situations where he either won, crushing his enemies, or when he lost in the most painful way. 

He dreamt of the showdown that left him _like this. Useless. Mutilated. Broken._

But the worst... the worst were the dreams of the Shen Gong Wu in his basement. The ones where they came to life as they did years ago for Raimundo, of having them crawl his way when he could do nothing to escape due to his current condition. Of having them take over his useless body, or kill him, engulfing him, crushing, strangling... 

He hadn’t slept after that. He just stared at the wall, growing more paranoid with every passing hour. 

Every sound, be it real or imaginary, made him more and more nervous. He was constantly on the verge of a panic attack. 

Once or twice, he was certain he heard the monks breaking in, and he hoped, so desperately, that they came for the Shen Gong Wu, that they would take them away without hurting him any more. 

He was certain he heard the paddling of huge paws, and he stilled, waiting for Chase’s tigers to jump at him from the shadows, to rip him to pieces or drag him before their lord, who’d be happy to do that himself. 

As time passed his paranoia deepened, and he was sure, _absolutely sure_ he could hear the sound of something being dragged across the floor, right before his door. Being dragged... or dragging itself. 

Sometimes it would pass it, as if it didn’t know he was there. Other times it would stop, as if it could sense him, his fear, and he prayed to every god and every devil he ever heard of, hoping not to be discovered, hoping it would just leave... 

After two full days of this agony, Jack was desperate. Exhausted, terrified, and _desperate._

Enough to move, despite every cell in his body wanting to tense up and keep still. 

Enough to drag himself into the wheelchair, despite wanting to be as far away from the infernal thing as possible. 

To steer his way out of the room and towards the basement door, even though he had to stop every few seconds and listen for any threatening sounds in the silence of his house. 

He was desperate enough to open the basement door and turn on the lights, stopping at the top of the stairwell to stare at every spot and corner, every piece of furniture and junk. 

Nothing was out of the ordinary. Nothing changed, aside from the stairwell that now had a vertical platform lift for his wheelchair. 

He backed out and closed the door, for once actually using the mechanical lock, and double-checking on the panel that it was, in fact, truly and firmly _locked._

He had hoped that would be it. 

That wasn’t it. 

He lasted a day and a half. 

He managed to eat a pudding, take his meds and, despite hating every second of the process, take an actual shower, although a very brief one, and he wasn’t looking. 

He tried to distract himself by watching a documentary about Einstein and fell asleep during the first ten minutes – he was too tired to focus anyway. 

The nightmares came back after only a few precious hours, fighting with his exhausted body as if to determine which would give up first. 

Morning came too soon. The time that passed between then and noon was its own kind of torture. 

This time, Jack dragged a chair from the dining room and blocked the door with it. 

Throughout the week more and more small pieces of furniture joined that initial chair. If Jack could still stand, he’d drag something heavier, like a desk or a table. 

But he couldn’t. And getting a chair was already incredibly difficult, with a lot of cursing, awkward maneuvering and almost falling out of the wheelchair. 

He established a sort of very unstable routine, if one could say such a thing. 

He’d wake up from the nightmares. Check the basement door. Drag something to add to the growing pile. Eat breakfast. Check the door. Sometimes shower. Check. Try to distract himself by watching a movie or playing a video game, always with the sound on low, pausing every few minutes to _listen._ Check. Sometimes drag something more. Eat. Chech. Check. _Check..._

He cracked after a week. 

Disabling the barricade took him a major portion of the day. 

He steered to the top of the stairs. 

Checked. 

Closed the door and barricaded it again. 

The same on the next day. 

On the following, he couldn’t take another second of this madness. 

Shaking with fear and checking every shadow and corner, he actually used the lift and came down. 

Maneuvering in the mess he had left was another challenge. He hardly threw pieces of junk to the sides, carving himself a path for a retreat if anything were to happen. 

Looking at the deactivated Jackbots was agony and he almost backed out again. But... he couldn’t. Not until he was _sure..._

The safe was right where it was supposed to be. Jack used the code he put there – 1-2-3. He regretted being lazy and doing it just so that Wuya would stop fretting over keeping those magical monstrosities safe... 

He yanked the door open, heart in his throat, almost hyperventilating with fear. 

They were there. Locked. Unmoving. 

The Monkey Staff, the Shroud of Shadows, the Sphere of Yun, and the Mantis Flip Coin. All he had left. 

For the first time, he hoped he had none. 

Jack locked them again and changed the code. 

Then he did it again the next day. 

And the next. 

And soon, it was no longer enough. It didn’t matter how difficult the code was, how secure the lock, how well barricaded the door. 

Jack dreamt of them every night and feared them every day. 

Those little monstrosities, together with the people they were connected to, ruined his life. 

They started all of this. 

And he couldn’t believe they’d just live him alone, even if he was _like this._

No, they’d want more. 

They always wanted more. 

Those things... they wanted to hurt him. 

They were going to kill him... 

The pills were no longer doing anything. Worse, Jack was certain they were just lowering his defenses. 

Those pills would make him completely helpless against the Wu when they inevitably came to attack him... 

He flushed the remaining pills down the toilet. 

During the half a month from when he started to experience that fear, Jack changed a lot. 

He was no longer apathetic, no. He was hypervigilant, terrified of every corner he couldn’t see past, every shadow. The lights in the Manor were all on now. At all times. There was no TV, no game, no music playing – he had to be ready, he had to hear the attack coming. 

He could barely sleep. He was barely scraping by on the few hours of shuteye he got when his pathetic, weak body couldn’t take it anymore and completely shut itself down. 

He couldn’t eat, he hasn’t showered in days. He had to be ready. Always ready. 

It happened during a panic attack. 

Jack tore through his barricade and barged into the basement, falling out of his wheelchair painfully. He crawled down the stairs and to the safe, yanked it open, and grabbed those demonic objects, shoving them into a bag he couldn’t remember getting, then crawled back to the nearest Jackbot, struggling to turn it on. 

When it finally came online, Jack was gasping. 

“Take the Shen Gong Wu. Take them to the others. Chase, Wuya, the monks, Hannibal, doesn’t matter! Take them and leave them to any of those guys. Tell them that I don’t want anything to do with the conflict anymore. That it’s all I had left, and they can do with them whatever they want. Tell them to never make any contact with me again! I want it to be as if I never met a _ny of them!”_

By the time he was finished, he was sobbing, crying in fear and desperation. 

“Master...” 

The robot’s mechanical voice had the audacity to sound concerned for its master. 

It was _too slow!_

_“_ Just go! Just go and _do what I told you already!”_

And when the metal hands took the sack and the bot flew away at high speed, Jack actually sobbed in _relief._

They were gone. 

They were gone and whoever got them would never let them go. 

Jack was safe. 

He cried himself into unconsciousness. 


	4. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chase decided to learn more about the mysterious thieves and Jack hasn't been doing well after getting rid of the Wu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!  
> The exams still aren't over and my thesis is still barely nudged with one finger, but... I'm still gonna write this fanfic. Just not as often as I wish I could - I still have to pass this semester, you know...

_1\. three months after the showdown_

Jack has calmed down considerably once he got rid of the Shen Gong Wu in his basement. 

He felt safer. 

He deactivated the Jackbot right after it came back, declaring it has done as it's been ordered. 

The Wu were gone and he was safe. 

The next day, Jack steered his wheelchair towards an old storage room at the back of the Spicer Manor, where, as expected, he found some wooden boards, some sturdy bolts, and his old screw gun. 

_Why did he even have them? He didn't remember ever building something not made of metal..._

He came back to the basement door and boarded it up. 

That part of his life was _over._

_Forever._

He didn't know what to do with himself anymore. 

Jack was alone, trapped in this Mansion in more ways than one. Because really, just _how_ was he supposed to leave it if he wanted to? He was a _cripple._ How was he supposed to do _anything_ now?

He resigned himself to simply doing... whatever. Staying in this enormous place, alone, closed off, forgotten. Like he's always been. 

Even before, when he still had some purpose. 

Some goals for life. 

The Spicer Mansion was quite possibly the most comfortable prison he could hope for, but it was still just that - a prison for him to rot in. 

He spent his days watching tv and playing video games, alone, in his dark living room. 

Like previously, his shopping was being delivered and taken care of according to the list he provided someone hired by his parents. He hadn't even seen whoever that was, not once in his life. Not even before the showdown. 

That was the way it's always been. 

Twice a week he'd check off what he wanted and got his food, it was even getting put in the fridge. Just like twice a week, someone took care of his laundry for him, leaving everything clean and put neatly in his room. 

The only difference was that, instead of being out or in the basement, he'd hide in a different room. 

It used to be called his 'game room'. He had used it when he was much, much younger, before he stayed almost permanently in his... downstairs. Before he stayed downstairs. 

And so, the life of Jack Spicer circulated between five rooms - his bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room, and his game room. Those five rooms became his world. It was a very small, dark world, no matter how spacious the rooms themselves were. 

The dreams persisted. 

Despite getting rid of the nightmares in his basement and having boarded up the door, they persisted. 

Granted, he no longer dreamt of the Shen Gong Wu. 

The showdowns, however, were a different story. 

No matter what he did, he still dreamt of the showdowns. Real or imaginary, won or lost, eventually they always twisted into some horrifying, nightmarish vision that he couldn't fight back no matter how much he tried. 

Sometimes it was real, sometimes it merged with whatever movie or video game he's been occupying himself with during the day. Sometimes he'd swear, right after waking up, that he could feel the magic cracking on his skin, the same one... _they_ used.

When his prescription got refilled two weeks after he had dumped the previous one down the toilet, he actually tried to stick to it, hoping whatever the stuff was would help him. 

The dreams did not go away. They were _slower._ Thanks to that, less terrifying, sure. But they felt much heavier. Even though the visions were less horrifying, it was harder to escape them. He knew he was dreaming, but he couldn't wake up. Or he woke up, but the dream held onto him whenever he closed his eyes to as much as blink. 

So no, the pills did nothing to actually help with the nightmares. They changed their nature, but in the end, the result was pretty much the same.

What was worse, they affected him during the day. After taking them for a short while, he was getting drowsy and restless interchangeably. His mouth was constantly dry and his vision would go blurry from time to time. The worst part was how, sometimes, he'd get those strange tremors he could not control for the love of all the geniuses that graced this shitpile of a planet. 

He was feeling strange and he did not like it. 

He stopped taking them after less than a month. 

_2\. present; three days after the theft_

Chase rarely made the effort to meet with his acquaintances of the mortal world outside of the usual social gatherings they partook in. 

Mostly, he only attended the parties - they took place at least once a year, which gave him a chance to ensure the modern villains didn't forget about him and offered an opportunity to take note of whoever might turn out to be important. 

He also attended them out of respect - those from the outside world had no idea how difficult it was to organize a gathering for villains. 

Even sending the invitations was difficult - some villains had a civilian identity that could be reached, like Pandabubba, but some did not, or were difficult to be found. 

There was also the problem of timing - there was an unspoken rule about never organizing meetings when important civilian parties and galas took place, out of respect for those very villains who had to attend them. 

Spacing was another problem entirely - the villains were coming from all over the world, so which country should be chosen? Not everybody had the benefit of Heylin magic for transportation. And once that was chosen, they also had to consider local policies and laws, take care of security, aside from the more standard aspects like the number of guests who can be comfortably accommodated, the grandeur befitting such a party, and of course, sleeping arrangements for those who would require it. 

Chase recognized those difficulties. He himself never hosted those banquets, but he respected those who did enough to make time for them. 

A more private visit, however, was a rarity on his part. He usually didn't care enough to bother, the banquets allowed him enough chance to keep his social circle alive, albeit loose, if he ever required it. Those occasions when he visited a particular person only took place when he needed information. He, of course, disguised them as mere friendly meetings, preferring whoever he was in contact with to offer the appropriate knowledge on their own, while intimidated and honored by his undivided attention. 

This was one of those times. 

Chase wanted to know more about the two masked thieves they encountered in Beijing. And so, he took the liberty of choosing one of his associates - officially a modest game developer from Tianjin, unofficially a medium-class villain specializing in cybercrimes - and notifying her he'd be paying her a visit. Her area of expertise made her most likely the best source of the desired information, and Tianjin was relatively close to where the theft took place. 

So, on a rather gloomy early afternoon, he showed up in a somewhat hidden alley in Tianjin, wearing an expensive, embroidered Tang suit, and made his way towards a high building where Tao Zhou made her business. 

The young man at the reception was startled like a deer who spotted the approaching predator the very second he took the first step inside. Fortunately, in his case, it meant he did what he could to please him, therefore confirming he was a guest and taking him to Zhou's office in record time. 

The place was relatively modest but decorated with taste, though the style wasn't something he'd chose himself. Black and silver, too minimalistic, too modern for him. But he could see every piece of furniture and decoration was good quality, so he didn't mind, sitting in a black leather chair and waiting for his host to arrive. 

He needn't wait long. Less than two minutes later a surprisingly tall woman with a very stern face and clear Chinese origin entered the room, giving a polite bow, before taking her seat in a chair on the other side of the low glass table. 

"I am honored by your visit, Young-xiānsheng. Can I interest you in some tea?"

Her voice sounded as rough as her face looked, but her politeness exceeded that of many he has dealt with. 

"The pleasure is mine, Zhou-xiǎojiě; I would like some. How has your business been going?"

For a few minutes, they engaged in what appeared to be small-talk while their tea got delivered by the terrified secretary, whose hands shook so much he interrupted their discussion with their cluttering. 

Zhou talked as if she was only discussing her official business but underneath her words, Chase could easily find the real meaning. 

"We had to resign from a partnership with a Hong Kong game company" actually meant "I broke the partnership with Pandabubba". 

When he asked for a reason, he knew that "our interests differed" meant "he's too obsessed with the Heylin side for my tastes". 

And when the secretary was leaving, and he responded "I am sorry to hear that. Though, there must be others worth considering instead", then he knew she understood that he was, in reality, asking her who else mattered now in her domain. 

And so, she knew why he came. What he wanted. And she offered him what he wanted. 

"Oh, of course, there are. I have been considering three - there is Chau from Turpan, last year he took the position of Duan if you recall."

Yes, Chase recalled. Chau supplied guns for most of the gangs in his area, something Duan used to do before Chau met him with a firing squad and took over, using a cover of a game developer and philanthropist. 

"There is, of course, Yeung from Chengdu, but his side businesses take more and more of his attention and I suspect he might rebrand soon."

That was an interesting piece of information, Chase mused. From what he knew, Yeung specialized in money laundering, but he also owned a few clubs in Chengdu. He has heard rumors that he started to introduce drugs in them, which he didn't approve of. If he decided to put more emphasis on that than his original occupation... well, Chase has already almost completely removed him from his social circle, maybe it was time to cut him off the rest of the way. 

"There's always Song from Beijing, but considering what has happened to him recently, I doubt his security measures are as sound as he claims, and if that's the case, then he might be exaggerating in other areas as well."

And that was what Chase was looking for. He has already determined that the company that was robbed was one of Song's official businesses. He was a minor producer of missile guidance systems for the Chinese military, who also happened to be an important figure on the black market, supplying weaponry and ammunition to many different rioters all over the country and over the border, which also made him an important political player. 

He was a genius and an important figure on the board the game was played on, who took care of his businesses and cared about his credibility. 

And he got robbed. 

"Yes, from what I've heard he fell victim to theft, hasn't he? How terrible. I take it they determined what was stolen? I hope it wasn't too much of a loss. Do you happen to know if they determined the robber's identity?"

He put as much of leisure charm into his voice as he could muster, trying to sound as casual as possible, not wanting to disclose the level of his interest. 

Zhou, blessed may be her godforsaken soul, did not disappoint him. She put herself in a more comfortable position on the chair and took a long sip of her Longjing tea. 

"Indeed. I don't know all the details, but from what I've heard, it was some prototype, the newest kind of robot bomb if I'm not mistaken. Song is devastated. Devastated, and furious. He lost not just a prototype, but a part of his credibility, and you know how much he cares about it, Young-xiānsheng."

Oh, it was getting more interesting by the second. And so, Chase put on the concerned front. 

"Oh, how terrible. I take it he must be losing in the eyes of his contractors?"

Zhou's thin lips twitched in a barely-there shade of a smile before she reached towards the drawer in the low table, took out her cigarette case, and pulled out one. Chase's keen smell was met with a characteristically sour and somewhat earthy smell, with a hint of something vaguely resembling chocolate - tea cigarettes. Judging by the way they looked and smelled, they were most likely Black Devils - Zhou's favorites. 

She lit one and started to smoke, not offering him one - she knew he wasn't interested. 

"Yes, I'm afraid that's the case. As soon as they discovered he's been compromised, Song's business partners began to doubt his security measures. They also value their own credibility, and _anonymity_ , above all, I'm sure you understand. Poor Song seems to be losing more and more by day, which is why I don't believe I'll end up doing business with him in the end."

"Of course, that's understandable," Chase responded like a businessman, taking a sip of his drink, before putting the cup on the table. 

"Did they manage to discover who has dealt Song such a painful blow?" He spoke like he was merely curious about an old acquaintance. 

Zhou giggled, the sound way too girlish for her appearance and gravelly voice, creating a very unpleasant effect. 

"That's where this story gets truly interesting. Tell me, Young-xiānsheng, have you perhaps heard of Proxy?"

 _Proxy..._ broker?

"I'm afraid it doesn't ring a bell." He stretched more comfortably, as the meeting itself was gradually losing the formal tone. 

Zhou smiled, showing off a set of perfect teeth. 

"Recently, many high-security facilities were broken into and stolen from. They relate to different domains, belong to different people, not just people like Song or you and me. Other than the fact that breaking into them was supposed to be virtually impossible, nothing seems to connect them. They were located all over the world too, and sometimes the incidents took place continents apart, but so soon they couldn't have been committed by the same person."

No, as far as Chase knew, there were two of them... 

"Although, all those crimes were committed similarly. Every time, the security was completely disabled; if there were guards, they were electrocuted into unconsciousness, but unharmed; the theft was clean, there were no traces. And each time, they left a virus behind, though it wasn't malicious, more like a kid's prank - it starts playing some techno whenever they want to log in to their system, nothing else. That's how we're sure it's the same people."

A virus playing annoying music... how childish, and yet... unconventional? 

"They were only caught on camera once."

Oh _were they?_

"Two men in black suits and cybernetic helmets, one black, one dark red. Screens over their eyes, displaying neon words, one DID THAT ON PURPOSE, other I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING. Looks like they have a sense of humor..."

Were they changing the helmets as they pleased, or was there more of them?

"The video was interesting, caught by a private drone that was simply flying by, I watched it a few times - they were leaving the building they just robbed, through the front door, like they belonged there. Then the red one noticed the drone, bowed like a showman and waved, and then he took out a gun and shot it. The other just watched the whole thing."

She was smiling like the devil, obviously amused by the shenanigans of those two masked thieves. 

"Some people think there must be a small army of them for all the thefts they committed, others that it's just those two guys. And some actually believe they aren't people, but robots! That's a funny one, but I believe it's just a crazy theory."

Chase started to wander himself. He tried to recall as many details about the encounter as he could - he was fairly certain the two felt like living beings, but... there was something strange about them, too, so in the end, he wasn't much wiser than Zhou. 

"Anyhow," she continued, taking a drag of her cigarette. "The fact that those companies have nothing in common and that what they stole hasn't turned up so far makes many people believe they are not stealing for themselves. And they obviously know their tech, so the internet dubbed them Proxy. Unoriginal, I think, but it fits, I guess..."

 _Hm, interesting_ , Chase thought. Those who stole for others tended to be more interesting than those who stole for themselves. There was no general rule, but more often than not they were loyal to their contractor for as long as their contract lasted - they needed their credibility, otherwise nobody would hire them. 

She asked if he wanted to see the video for himself. He did. 

The windows of her office served them as screens - useful since their size provided them with a better image. 

It was indeed exactly as she has described. Chase was fairly certain these were the same two he encountered in Beijing. 

Zhou told him the motions of the red Proxy were far too fluid to justify the theory of him being a robot. 

Chased was more focused on something else - when the man raised his arm, the sleeve of his perfectly tailored suit rolled up a little, and between the hem and the glove he could notice a sliver of alabaster skin and a faint trace of a vain. His immortal eyes noticed the barest of movements - a pulse. 

Definitely human then. 

Chase usually wouldn't bother with hired thieves. They didn't have enough ambition to become important players or major pawns. But those two intrigued him, for one simple reason. 

Chase couldn't understand them. 

Soon, the topic changed and they talked more about Song's situation. 

Chase knew Song very well. He was one of the few mortals uninvolved in the Haylin-Xiaolin conflict whom he respected and with whom he kept relatively close contact. Chase knew the man's obsession with security and confidentiality. 

Zhou's information was extremely useful to him - thanks to her he now grasped the situation firmly enough to know what to do. But she did not deal closely with those type of people - she could only offer him this much. 

However, he knew someone who should be quite well informed in the domain of thieves and cybernetics alike, whom he could easily reach out to. 

They talked a little more, mostly small talk. Zhou told him that she had a 'troublesome contractor' in Datong, one who didn't pay for her services. Chase asked her for details. She explained she has realized a difficult project for them - which in her language meant she worked to find and provide important information for them. And she has yet to receive half of her remuneration - a considerable amount of 45 000 yuan. 

Chase always showed his gratitude to those who freely provided him with whatever information he needed. 

After he came back to his citadel, he arranged for someone to explain to Zhou's contractor that latency in payment might affect their credibility, which was so important in their profession, and how such a thing could put an end to their ability to run business. Sometimes _permanently._

_3\. four months after the showdown_

Jack has been mindlessly playing Mortal Kombat for 16 hours straight, only taking breaks when he needed the bathroom. 

He wasn't even trying to get a good score or anything - he didn't honestly see the point. He was just trying to fill his time with _something, anything._ He didn't care what. 

The game room was dark, the only light coming from his console. It's been just him, Mortal Kombat, a bag of chips, and five Monsters Ultra for 16 hours. 

He briefly wondered if he could die like this - if he stayed in that one room long enough, could the exhaustion, malnutrition, dehydration and whatever else make him die?

He shrugged at the thought, losing the game and immediately restarting it, not caring if he won or lost. 

"Pitiful." Jack jumped when he heard the voice, immediately pausing the game. His eyes searched the darkness, before picking the darkest corner from when he believed the voice came. 

"Who's there?!" He demanded. 

"Is this really what has become of Jack Spicer, self-proclaimed Evil Boy Genius? This depressed, useless, suicidal s _hell?_ Have you truly stooped so low?"

Jack's heart filled with fury. 

"What of it? What do you want from me?!"

His shaking hands gripped the handrims of his wheelchair to suppress their shaking. 

"I don't _want_ anything. What about you?"

"What do you mean?" Jack's voice was trembling as his eyes tried to penetrate the suffocating darkness of the corner. 

"You've been wallowing in self-pity for four months - more than enough. So, what is it that you plan to do?"

Jack had no plans to do anything, and somehow he knew the voice was aware of it. 

All doubt vanished when he heard a chuckle, albeit completely devoid of humor. 

"So, you're just going to sit here in the dark until you die? Pathetic. How did you go from taking over the world to _this shit?_ "

Jack was no longer scared. No, he was f _urious._

"You wanna know how? _I lost mu fuckin' leg!"_

He yelled, glaring at the corner. 

"So all that ambition was located in just one leg? Pretty specific placing, if you ask me..."

"Shut your trap!" Jack wasn't going to allow himself to be mocked. 

"Why should I? What are you gonna do if I don't?"

"I'll fuckin' kill you!" He was seeing red. 

"Oh, will you? Cause to me that sounds like something I could not expect from a sniveling whiner who can't do anything for himself."

"The fuck am I supposed to do, huh?! What do you want from me?! I'm a _cripple_ now! How am I supposed to do _shit?!"_

His converser got angry. 

"That's all you've got?! You're just gonna give up? Sit on your ass and feel sorry for yourself till you bite the dust? Piece of crap! That leg doesn't change shit, you know? You've been this way before. A pathetic, worthless pile of nothing. A brat who betrayed everybody he's ever worked with and then cried cause nobody wants to give him a chance. You brought this on yourself. And now, instead of learning your lesson and finding a way to get what you want, you're wallowing in self-pity. Grow the hell up and get a s _pine_ instead of letting everyone _walk all over you!"_

Jack threw an empty can at the wall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, I'd love to know what you think, so if you can, please leave a comment!


	5. The game of Cat and Mouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are both finally getting somewhere...   
> AKA  
> Chase continues his investigation in the present, and in the past, the mysterious voice in the dark comes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a rather short chapter, but I'm almost done with my semestral exams, so I hope to get some time to write another chapter sooner than before.

_ 1\. Four months after the showdown  _

Jack was laying on the couch with a devil of a headache. His body crashed hard after drinking about ten Monsters, no water, no food. The sugar high was great - the aftermath, not so much. He groaned into the darkness, but it did nothing to relieve his pain. He wanted to get a glass of water from the kitchen - but that would require dragging his ass into that blasted wheelchair, and that was just way too much effort. If he could still walk he wouldn't have that problem... 

"If you would get a grip on yourself, you wouldn't have that problem either." 

He groaned into the cushions, recognizing the same voice from two days back.

_ Not again...  _

"Why are you here?" He moaned, wanting nothing more than to be left alone. 

"The more important question is why are  _ you  _ here."

"I live here." He deadpanned, and an unamused sigh followed. 

"Let me ask you something else, then. You have spent give or take five years of your life with a goal to take over the world, even before Wuya. So tell, me, Jack - why? Why is that what you wanted? Also - why were you looking for the Shen Gong Wu? You have always had other ways to try world domination, so why this one? Why the Haylin, why the showdowns?"

He was done with this stupid interrogation. 

"I don't know! The hell do you want from me?"

He wanted to be left alone, was that too much to ask for?! His hands turned into fists, nails gripping the cushions of the couch, anger bubbling. 

"I want you to think about the answer, that's all for now." The voice was calm, even, and  _ so fucking self-assured... _

"Can you leave me the fuck alone already?!" Jack yelled, pushing himself up and looking around the living room. 

Well... he got his wish after all. He was alone once again. 

_ 2\. Present moment _

Ashley has changed a lot throughout the years. She still loved cats and stealing things, and fashion. But her costume was no longer so obviously feline - less than two years back she has switched for a simpler version - just a black leather bodysuit, though she still had a cowl with ears, and a mask for her mouth; anonymity became more and more important to her as years went by, as did her public image.

Officially, she owned a fashion company that also donated an enormous amount of money for animal shelters, specifically those for just cats. 

Unofficially, she was a hired thief. She didn't need money, but she enjoyed the thrill, Chase supposed, which made her one of his preferred sources of information whenever he couldn't get them on his own. As long as she was entertained, he needn't repay any favors. 

For that very reason, he didn't believe it necessary to send her a notice of his visit in advance - a surprise was much more likely to pique her curiosity and make her more likely to talk. 

Unlike Tao Zhou, Ashley did not have a taste in interior design that Chase could call enjoyable. There was far too much pink and purple and  _ cat.  _ Nonetheless, he sat in her office, because no matter how much he appreciated her information, there was no way he would invite her into his citadel. No information was worth hosting the woman, and he knew his warriors agreed with him on that - not a single one could stand her company for longer than several minutes. 

And so, Chase, once again dressed in more contemporary fashion, ended up sitting on a... fairly comfortable, though obnoxiously purple couch. 

His partnership with Ashley was different than with Zhou. Ashley was much younger, bolder, and careless - therefore, while she didn't consider herself on equal grounds to him, she didn't feel her own inferiority either. She annoyed him much, much more - made jokes, talked with him like she would with any other acquaintance, didn't offer him the expected respects nor propper hospitality. 

Unlike many other times, she didn't make him wait for her - it was rare for him to come at all, much less unannounced. Chase's tactic had the desired effect. 

She showed up within less than three minutes from his arrival - he checked. It was her new speed record.

She entered the office with the grace of a cat, owning the space in more ways than just being the company's owner. That was the one aspect in which Chase had found her similar to himself - the cat was the queen of every place and controlled every situation, much like the dragon did. 

Unafraid and unaffected by him, she draped herself over the other couch before him, run her fingers through her short, blond hair, and singsonged:

"I rarely get uninvited guests these days... so, what does your cold heart desire?" 

_ Ah... all the better then, she didn't want to take time.  _

"I'd like to inquire about your, ah... shall I say, business concurrent?" 

That most certainly caught her attention. Chase was a specialist when it came to cats - her face and the way her pose changed was the equivalent of a cat's ears and tail twitching. 

"Oh, would you? Funny... I never knew you were interested in  _ my  _ line of work..."

Her figurative tail was moving from one side to another - she was very much intrigued. 

"I am a man of diverse interests - what does one gain by limiting themself to one discipline, after all?" 

Chase knew how to play this game - how to play  _ her.  _ He has done it countless times before. 

"So, who is it that you would like to ask me about?"

It was almost as old as the world itself. 

"Oh, I believe they're called... Proxy."

Her smile was devilish - she was perfectly aware of how to play too. 

"Yes, yes... they are most certainly someone interesting."

After all, the game of cat and mouse was so much more entertaining with  _ two cats. _

3\. _F_ _our months after the showdown_

Despite his growing hatred for the intruder, Jack couldn't stop his thoughts from coming back to the questions. They bothered him the entire day and the night that followed. He laid in bed in his room, staring at the ceiling hidden somewhere within the unpenetrable blackness, haunted by those questions. 

_ Why did he want to rule the world? _

There were many things Jack could do with his life. His mother was a fashion icon - he could get involved in that, but he wasn't interested. His father owned an enormous financial empire, dealing with all sorts of areas like aviation, tourism, entertainment, finances, and construction. He could easily find within them something that piqued his interest, learn the inner workings of the empire his father has built, and when the time was right, take over a fraction of his choice. Once he has proved his worth, he would gradually get more responsibilities and power. 

If he were to chose to be the maker of his own success, he could either sell his robot designs to someone, get hired somewhere, or use the money he had to start his own business. 

Why did he want to rule the world?

He wanted power. But he could have that with his father's influence, or with his robots. 

He wanted respect. His parents could grant that too... 

Maybe that wasn't where his answer laid. Maybe the other question... 

Why Shen Gong Wu? Why that blasted conflict when he had so many other ways to gain power?

If being a CEO wasn't enough, he could go for politics. Or simply use his robots. Hell, his granny still had enough connections in Chinese underworld to help him get started there. 

So why the Wu? Why bother chasing magical artifacts all over the world for three years, fighting monks and other Heylin, why the obsession with Chase Young and Hannibal?

And at that moment Jack realized why that question was so important. 

He stayed in the conflict not because it was the best, or easiest, or fastest way to get what he wanted. He stayed there because he  _ wanted to.  _

Because previously, his life was lonely, boring, and bleak. He was a genius with nobody to talk to and nothing to do, suspended in the void, waiting for something to happen - that was why he was so eager to join Wuya when she appeared. 

He stayed in the conflict because he  _ liked it.  _ He liked the travels, the showdowns, the adventures. Liked the magic and how strange and unpredictable his life became. It made him feel alive again. 

He stayed even after it became clear this would end up either crippling or  _ killing  _ him. He stayed.  _ For the thrill.  _

Why Shen Gong Wu? Because they offered him a unique opportunity to kill two birds with one stone - they offered him exactly what he wanted. Power and excitement. Those two were the things his life was missing, the things he wanted most. 

"I should congratulate you on your self-awareness, Jack." 

His red eyes opened wider when the voice once again pierced the silence of the mansion, but this time, he didn't react in any other way. 

"So, now that you've determined why you're here - what you want from life - there is one more thing to consider. How do you plan to get it?"

"I can't."

He knew it was an excuse. And he knew his guest knew that too. 

"There is no such thing as  _ can't,  _ Jack, and you of all people should know that. There is only what you want and how you can get it. We have determined a vague idea of your objective: power and excitement. It's not much, but it's something. So now, think about what you have, and what you want. Give those two more specific shapes - together or separately, think about where you could get those two."

Jack closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was done fighting the current. 

"And when I come up with something, when I find more clear objectives - what then?" He asked calmly. 

With his eyes closed and with the everpresent darkness he couldn't see it. But he could  _ hear _ the smile in the intruder's voice. 

"Then I'll help you figure out how to obtain them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think in the comments! Constructive critique is welcomed! And if some of you have any thoughts about what might happen later - I'd be delighted to hear them as well!


	6. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chase talks with Ashley. Jack talks with his Teacher. The Proxy fly to their next assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would take so much less time if I had a beta... Does anybody know where I can find somebody? 

_1\. Present moment_

Chase was once again reminded of how incredibly useful Ashley could be, especially when she was intrigued enough to gossip.

As he didn't take much interest in the realm of thievery, Chase knew only the bare minimum of that particular area of evil. He knew a good way for a hired thief to gain recognition was to perform some grand theft - which was obvious. Then they could be hired by those who either knew the correct people and therefore had propper connections, or by those smart or resourceful enough to find them. 

He was unaware, however, that there was also another way - if one wished to be recognized by the darker parts of society, they could participate in certain events, like the yearly galas he personally attended. 

For those interested, there was a competition - the Bill Mason Contest, organized twice a year. 

For six months, anyone could send a request for theft - the description of their object of choice and the reward they were willing to pay for it. The jury would choose only one - which they found most challenging, most spectacular, and most profitable. 

During the same time, thieves from all over the world could enter the contest, granted that they met the requirements regarding the number of jobs taken during the previous six months and how profitable they were. The novices could also participate if they met them, though they only counted self-appointed jobs. 

When the time was up, the commission sent the qualified thieves their assignment. They all had seven days to prepare, then they would have 24 hours to finish the job. The one to do it first would win and get to keep the payment promised by the client. 

The money was just a bonus, though - the real reward was the glory and recognition it earned them, multiplying the number of offers they received or helping them rise above the crowd.

She explained it all to him with a face of a cat with a canary. 

Because apparently, Proxy was either truly a group of two, or whatever minions they had were insignificant - they showed up for the last contest, and they showed up as two people. 

"I was waiting a while for that contest, you see," she said. "Before, there was a person who won almost every single one for the past three years. They were called Dewdrop, like the dewdrop spider, and they were _amazing..._ I'm pretty sure they could get anything from any place, they were a _magician_ among thieves. But they weren't there for the last competition - they died during the previous one."

Chase was genuinely surprised by that. Of course, their line of work was dangerous, but more often than not it involved the risk of being caught, not _killed._ And judging by Ashley's tone of voice and body language, she was quite passionate about that particular person. 

"And how did that happen?" He asked, indulging her and allowing this change in their conversation's direction, at least for a short while, to keep her attention. 

"Oh, it was actually a pretty loud affair, you know? There was law enforcement involved - what a scandal! Nothing like that ever happened since the Contest has first started! But somehow they knew, and they were there. So a fight broke out between them and a few participating thieves, and then - all hell broke loose. Nobody has all the detail, but something exploded, and in the end, a few of them got arrested and Dewdrop was injured - they died a few days later in the hospital."

Has Chase imagined it, or was it a note of regret in her voice?

"What a shame. Have you two known each other?" He asked of sheer courtesy. 

Has he not seen it with his own two eyes, Chase never would have believed it - she actually _blushed,_ though faintly, at his words. 

"Oh, no, not personally, no... but, well, I always liked their work. It's such a shame they died..."

It was fairly obvious she had at least a high admiration for the aforementioned criminal, if not an actual romantic interest. 

"So anyway," she turned back to the original subject of their conversation. "The last Contest was a way for the organizers to rehabilitate themselves, but it was also the first one in a while without Dewdrop competing, and many people admired them and copied their style. Many of them wanted to participate, and I did too. And it was the first one when Proxy appeared! So, we were all getting ready to get started with the task, I had a _great_ strategy, I'll have you know, and the countdown has just started. And in less than an hour, those two _won!_ They beat us all to the punch, even I got there when it was almost over! But I'll tell you, I saw a little bit - those two were _definitely_ Dewdrop's fans, one surely more than the other, but I was a real... _admirer..._ of his style, I'd recognize it anywhere, and I'm sure they were copying them!"

Chase allowed his attention to slip a little, concentrating on what has been said, while also having an ear for whatever useful piece of information Ashley might let slip in her rambling. 

The thief must have been a very interesting person if they had admirers even after such a pitiful demise. Even more so if Ashley was one of them - the easily bored and not easily impressed Ashley. 

"I'll admit, those two are sneaky, but still, Dewdrop was much better. I mean... they also used to leave a signature, but theirs was much more classy! It was always a business card with a dewdrop spider on it, and those two just leave a virus that plays cyber techno - lame! But it was a clean theft like Dewdrop's, so it wasn't all bad. I'll admit, I was a bit sore over that loss - the reward was ginormous! Those two did so well that they immediately had a line of potential clients, too. And no surprises there - they have huge egos, I'm telling you! They only accept the most difficult tasks. It doesn't seem to matter to them what they're stealing or from whom, or even how much they get paid, as long as it's supposed to be an impossible job."

Ashley was saying it as if to belittle the two, but Chase's attention latched onto that piece of information. 

Hired thieves stole for money. That's what they are. 

Why would those two put the difficulty of their task as the first criteria, instead of the money?

_2\. Five months after the showdown_

Jack was sitting in his wheelchair, both elbows on his old worktable as he stared at the blueprints he was trying to improve before he'd make a prototype. 

The design was good, but not _good enough._ He needed it to be better. He has already made many improvements to the original design, but he was yet to be satisfied with his work. 

It was his most important project yet - he wouldn't settle for mediocre, not for good, not for very good - it needed to be _perfect_. 

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, tired of the somewhat oppressive light. 

He had reopened his old workshop a week after establishing his goals, and he has changed many things since then. Cleaned up all the clutter, all the unnecessary stuff, completely rearranged the space. It was far better organized now - clean, modernized, purposeful. No longer a basement-turned-lab, but a fully professional workspace, deserving of all the great things he was going to make there. 

No more loose cables and bare installations - all that was properly hidden now. His worktable, clear boards with pens ready to write new ideas, even all his tools - almost everything was out of sight, retracting into walls or the floor unless he was using it. The space was open, easily accessible for his wheelchair, well lit, colored in soft, charcoal greys, easy on his light-sensitive eyes, and not distracting.

It was easy to lose track of time there. 

"Jack, you should retire to bed soon. Tomorrow you're spending time with your father at his office."

He groaned at his Teacher's insistent voice. It was irritating, to have someone nag at him like this. Especially when he wanted to stay up all night. Especially when he knew which of them was right. 

Jack was a creature of passion. Inspiration would hit him at the oddest of times, and he'd follow it. He was chaotic and disorganized, his mind always preoccupied with too many things to focus on just one. 

His Teacher was the voice of reason. Reminding him to sleep. Eat. Go to a meeting. Work. Stay on task. Stay focused. 

He knew he needed it. It gave him structure, helped him realize his full potential. 

That didn't mean he was suddenly fond of being told when to work or eat or sleep. 

Nor did it make spending time at his father's company any less of a pain. 

He closed his eyes and held the bridge of his nose, irritated. 

"Remind me once again, why did I agree to ask the bastard to teach me how to manage the company? Why did I agree to go there every other day and be around him?"

He needed those reminders, otherwise, he knew he wouldn't be going. He hated his father, he _hated him so much..._

A deep sigh proceeded the answer. 

"Jack, we've discussed that already. You're going to need that kind of knowledge in order to gain and maintain a high social status. What good is power, if you can't hold it?"

"I know that." He was getting frustrated. "I just don't understand why I have to learn from him. Why can't you teach me that?"

Another deep sigh. 

"Jack, we both know why. Do you want me to say it out loud?"

...did he? 

He thought for a moment. 

"...no. No, I don't." 

He knew the answer. But hearing it would be far from pleasant. 

"I still don't like it though."

He knew he was whining. He's been trying to stop doing that, but sometimes he was just too frustrated to care much. 

He knew his Teacher noticed when the even voice sounded further away from the far, dark corner of his lab and closer to him as if coming just from behind his back, just outside of arm's reach. 

"Jack, we've been through this already. Your father is a source of knowledge that you will need. He's a resource like any other, one that is readily available for you without much effort. Use it. He's like a database - once it's no longer useful, you'll move to another, but first, you have to get through this part. Observe. Learn. Adapt. Move on. Like you do with every other knowledge source."

He sighed again. It was difficult to argue with his Teacher. His voice of reason, who sounded so even and calming and reasonable. 

"You've already learned so much from him in such a short time. And just look at your project - only a little bit of work before you'll be ready to create a prototype. Learn patience, Jack, and you'll have a world at your feet."

The corner of Jack's lips twitched. 

"You sound like a devil whispering in my ear, you know that?"

And he could almost hear the smile in his Teacher's response. 

"Whose fault is that?"

_3\. Present moment, seven days after the theft_

Few people knew what it was like to fly around the world in a personal mini-jet. Even fewer knew what it was like to pilot one. If anybody was to ask Naseem as a child if they'd ever get to experience such a thing, the answer would be no. Birds could fly - street rats couldn't. And yet, there they were, sitting comfortably in a mini-jet, sliding through the air with unimaginable speed, and while Naseem had no idea how to fly on their own, they were perfectly content with staying on the passenger's seat. The view was unlike anything else in the whole world - they were over the beautiful Zagros Mountains between Iran and Iraq. It wouldn't be long before they arrived in Jeddah, where their next job would take place. 

"How much time should we have from our arrival till the job begins?" They asked, struck by an idea. 

"About four hours, why?" The pilot's voice was strangely strained. 

Naseem noticed the slight tension he carried in his shoulders for the past week. Since their encounter with the Xiaolin Monks and the two Heylin. They were hoping it would subside while they were busy planning their next job, and to a certain extent it did - not enough though. They glanced at their partner in crime, observing the small details that always gave of his mood. 

"I lost our bet, remember? I bet we wouldn't bump into that bunch in Beijing, and we did, like you said - I owe you dinner."

A minuscule muscle next to his jaw twitched, easily spotted under that translucent skin of his. He was stressed. 

Naseem continued. 

"Jeddah is my city, I know every corner of that place - before we start the job, I'm taking you to eat some good biryāni, you're gonna love it, trust me."

Red actually scoffed. 

"Your city... You said the same about Istanbul, and Astana, and Shanghai."

Naseem's lips twitched in amusement. 

"What can I say, I grew up all over the world. You get to know many cities when you travel, and steal, and have no permanent residence."

Red finally cracked an actual smile. Well, more like a smirk, but it was close enough. 

"Knock-off cosmopolitan asshole... You're name's Arabic, face who the fuck knows, maybe Irish, and your ass has been all over the place like a bloody pigeon. Make a damn choice, I never know what to say when we're out as civilians."

Naseem snorted. Red was mostly just talking to himself, upset with his inability to pinpoint his own partner's cultural affiliation - it has been a running joke between them - but his frustration was very amusing. Naseem liked to be problematic about it - they were no country's child, raised by the streets and people all over the world, and refused to confine themselves to some stupid label like "origin". 

"My cosmopolitan ass aside, are you up for some biryāni or not? Cause I'm telling you, I know a great place, and you should relax a bit anyway, we need you focused."

Red sighed dramatically, jerking his head to get a strand of red hair out of his eyes. 

"Fine, but you're paying."

Yeah, as if they couldn't afford dinner... they made more than enough money as Proxy to buy a whole _diner_ if they wanted, instead of a dinner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are encouraged and very appreciated! I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter :)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always encouraged and welcome, even if you don't like something about my work! Constructive criticism helps me improve my writing!


End file.
